8
- 8 -
Machivelle stood to one side and waved an arm to the door. She smiled. “Walk with me.”
Her abrupt change of manner, from threatening to personable, was disconcerting, and at first Daventree was unable to move. But she nodded, as if she were telling him that everything was alright, and for a moment her eyes radiated warmth, unfreezing his limbs.
Daventree turned to the door. Only now did he see the man standing there, dressed in smart black clothing and wearing a strong, important expression. Light shone off his bald head as he stepped aside, allowing Daventree free egress.
The woman walked beside him, and the bald-headed gentleman brought up the rear. Daventree fought the urge to turn his head, instead concentrating on both his surroundings and Machivelle’s words.
“My Factory
